Second Impact
by lovetowritetoo
Summary: A routine case becomes tragedy. With Lisbon fighting for her life and Jane in grave danger himself, he angrily seeks revenge on her attacker, determined not to let it go until he finds him. The Team will have to work together to solve the case before it's too late. Type: Hurt/Comfort/Angst combined with a touch of humor. Friendship, no Jisbon. All major characters involved.
1. Chapter 1

**Second Impact**

Story: A routine case becomes a disaster. With Lisbon in bad shape, Patrick Jane frantically seeks revenge on her attacker, determined not to let it go until he finds him, even if it kills him.

Type: Hurt/Comfort/Angst combined with a touch of humor. There is a lot of friendship going on, no Jisbon.

All major characters are present.

There are no spoilers; this is a standalone case and story. It is set before the resolution of the Red John-case, somewhere in the timelines between season 4 and 5 without special mention to any RJ-related characters with Gale Bertram leading the CBI.

This story is written from Jane's POV.

Feedback and reviews are very much appreciated!

**Part one**

I don't know what happened. To be honest, I was as shocked as anyone without my mental insights would have been. There was nothing to warn us, nothing to surprise us. All we had to do was go into that old abandoned shack off the main road where one of our three suspects had lived up until three weeks ago, check that out and then head out to the CBI office to concentrate on the real investigation. The check should have been routine since none of us really believed there would be evidence there. But because Lisbon and I were the closest in the area, she suggested to make a quick stop and check it out anyway.

As we got out of the car, I looked briefly at the old shed. It consisted out of a few rambling walls, an old creaking door and no windows. There was no way anyone could still live here. Lisbon saw the look on my face. "Jane, we have to cover every track, you know that. So that's what we are doing."

"Yes, ma'am," I said politely, which of course concerned her even more. She didn't like me acting up but she definitely also didn't like me being cheeky like this.

As we approached the shed, the door flung open in its hinges, pushed by a wind that seemed to come through the building. On the side, a small window was pushed open. On days like this, with a strong California breeze, it was enough to make the shabby shack look even more shambled.

Nonetheless, Lisbon took out her gun and held it before her. Me, unarmed as always, followed right behind her as I usually did. "Jane, stay behind me," Lisbon said. "Or better yet, stay in the car."

"Oh no," I replied. "I'm having too much fun roaming around in the dark behind you. But do warn me when the going gets tough so I can run. I am good at running."

As we entered the shack, I could hear her snort, then becoming serious again. "Hush, be quiet. There might be someone here. You're distracting me."

"Lisbon, you know as well as I do that there are no signs on doors pointing out towards killers, saying: Find me here. This is an empty trail and a waste of time. Our killer is not here nor has he ever been in the past three weeks. Which proves my point that he's probably not even our killer to begin with because he was in jail. I don't know why you would even bother –"

"Jane, shut up," she hissed, wavering at me while her eyes were fixed on the empty darkness before us. "I thought I'd heard something."

We both froze and stood still, barely seeing anything in the darkness of that shack.

Since I hated guns, I was ready to run out of there in a second. But all we heard was the dripping of an old pipe, just about the only thing still working in this frosty warehouse. I felt chills run down my spine because of the cold. But all we saw in that room was a shabby old bed, an old closet and some creaked chairs. There was nothing else.

"Okay, I'm done," I said, startling Lisbon as I had approached her from a very short distance, whose eyes roamed around, searching for something that wasn't there. "Must be your imagination, Lisbon. Come on, I'm hungry. There's a great hot dog place around the corner. I'll treat you."

She turned towards me, lowering her gun. "You're right. Let's go." As she came towards me, she kicked my shoulder hard.

"Hey!" I yelped, "what was that for?"

"For startling me. You can be so childish, Jane."

I smiled as I placed my hand on her shoulder and pulled her with me. "That's what you like about me. Come on, Lisbon. Let's go."

As we headed towards the door, I heard a loud bang, followed by another one; an all-too familiar sound only to be associated with guns. A millisecond later, we were both on the ground. I didn't even realize what was going on until something hard pushed me forward, throwing me off my feet and slamming my head against the concrete floor. I saw black as a sharp pain shot through my right temple. I lay down panting and confused, not know what was going on and seeing red. Only to realize then that it was Lisbon who had thrown me against the floor, falling on top of me. She was a lightweight but at that moment she could have weighed four hundred pounds.

I stayed down confused, face down, with her body on top of me as a pair of feet passed by us, stopped for a brief moment, seemed to hesitate and then hurried out of the shack. I stayed very still when he did that, hoping that he would think we were both dead. Otherwise, I was certain, we would not live to see another day.

"Lisbon," I whispered when it became quiet inside. "Lisbon, get off me. He's gone. It's alright, we're safe. Lisbon? Get off me!"

But she didn't move. Her black hair was tickling my neck and I tried to move her off me. "Lisbon." My hand grasped her arm, trying to get her off me. "Lisbon, can you hear me? Lisbon! Come on, stop fooling around."

But again, she didn't move.

Now I started to panic. Here I was, lying on the ground on my stomach, with Lisbon on top of me, unmoving. My head felt like it would burst as her weight smothered me. I felt disoriented in this situation as the pain in my head numbed me.

Only then did I realize that she wasn't mucking about. She was unconscious, leaning into me with her face against my shoulder and her hair spread wide over us.

I held her with my right arm as I started to shift my weight from underneath her, meanwhile supporting her body so it wouldn't touch the ground. I rolled gently away from her until she shifted aside of me, her side touching the ground. Groaning from the effort I managed to free myself from her weight, crawled upwards and looked at her lying on her side, her black long hair still covering her face. I swore she was dead, I had never seen her so still before. Gone was the fierce, small Special Agent that could mouth off to anyone and get away with it. It was this that frightened me the most.

"Lisbon," I said, shaking her arm gently, praying and hoping that she would open her eyes, laugh at my distress and get up. "Lisbon, come on, wake up. This is not funny."

I pushed her hair from her face. Even in the darkness I could see her startling grey pallor. Her eyes were closed, her face contorted in a painful expression. I had never seen her like this before. She was, even unconscious, in pain.

My hands started roaming her, looking for wounds. Her dark suit prevented me from seeing anything. Why the hell was she always dressed in black jackets? I crawled upwards and pushed open the shack door but it kept on closing so I kicked against it until it dropped out of its hinges, allow strong sunlight to enter light into the room.

Then I sunk to my knees as I crawled back towards her, touching her face, her torso, her legs. And there it was, in her back. A hole in her jacket, blood on her white T-shirt. It was pouring out of the gunshot wound rapidly.

"Oh no," I whispered, quickly but gently removing her jacket so I could take a better look at the wound. Never before had I felt so helpless as I found myself sitting there besides her, watching her bleed.

Instinctively my mind told my body what to do, ordering my hands to push down on her back as I tried to stop the bleeding. Her blood seeped through my fingers, onto my wedding ring and onto the palms of my hands. I looked at all the blood, knowing I couldn't stand it. I let go and rubbed my hands against my clothes, only to push down again. Ignoring the excruciating pain in my head – almost welcoming it as it kept me alert – still pushing on her wound with my left hand, I reached for my phone with the right, unable to grab it from my coat jacket without letting go of her.

I realized all too soberly that we were completely alone in this shed and that Lisbon, my boss, friend and confidant, could die right in front of me, in my arms. She was still on her side and her eyes opened briefly. For a second I thought she was dying. She made fun noises and then that stopped too.

"Lisbon," I say, my voice trembling like never before. "Lisbon, don't do this to me, damnit."

Then she sighed deeply and her eyes closed. I realized she was still alive and that my voice somehow calmed her down. That was enough to get me going. I took deep, trembling breaths. Someone had to help us. But that someone would have to be me. There was no one else. The team didn't even know that we were in trouble. They wouldn't be able to guess. And if I let go now, Lisbon would die here and it would be on me.

Suddenly her eyes opened again and she stared right into my face. All color had drained from her skin. Her face was pale, making her eyes and lashes seem even darker. Her lips were bluish, her breathing short and shallow.

"Lisbon," I spoke, "Lisbon, hang on. Hang on, for god's sake." I stare at the crucifix on her necklace. Anti-God as I was, I found myself praying for strength.

Sharp pain shot through me, numbing my head, my body and my moves. I shrugged my jacket off me, trying to get to my phone without letting go of her. Nausea rose up in my throat. Clumsily I dropped the phone to the ground, letting go of Lisbon at long last as I turned my head and fought against the bile building up inside of me. I felt lightheaded and weak, forcing myself to stay put and focus on her. But I failed to succeed.

I moved away from me, crawling on hands and feet like some animal, until I found myself against the wall and left whatever was inside of me. My body heaved and I couldn't stop the vomiting. It was horrible. The foul taste of bile remained inside my mouth as my body continued to struggle until it was over. I knew I had a concussion, there was no doubt about that. But like hell I would give in.

I grabbed a handkerchief from my pocket, wiped my mouth and leaned heavily against the wall. _She needs you, _pounded through my head. _Get up and make that call! _

I crawled back towards her, grasped my phone again and dialed 911 with bloodstained fingers, using every effort inside of me that I could muster. Relief shot through me when the operator responded within the second. "911 Operator. What is your emergency?"

"This is – I'm Patrick Jane," I heard myself whisper. "I need help. My partner – Special Agent Lisbon, with the CBI, has been shot. We – I can't – We need help, right now."

"Sir? Sir, calm down," the female voice on the other side said. "Sir, where are you? Is the shooter still there? Are you alone?"

"I don't know," I said, not remembering the address. "I think he's gone. Can you – can you trace us? Call the CBI – Agent Van Pelt can trace us – I – Please hurry –"

I dropped the phone as Lisbon moaned, pushing both of my hands against her back once more. I heard voices coming from the other side of the line. My phone was lying there with open line, but I couldn't pick it up out of fear of losing her.

I had some memories of what to do when someone gets shot. "Pressure," I heard myself say. "Put pressure on the wound and hold on." I heard myself repeating it over and over again, like a mantra. "Pressure … pressure …"

Thousands of memories of Lisbon shot through my mind. We've worked together for so long that I could hardly remember a time before her. She was my best friend, the one person that knows me for who I really am. The one who took me with all my good but mostly bad behavior. If I lost her – if I lost her _too _– I wouldn't know how to move on. She saved me in so many ways and here I was, helpless and unable to return the favor. And to get killed in such a stupid way was not what she deserved.

I looked around for something to cover her with as she felt cold to the touch. All this time she hadn't said a single word and it frightened me beyond anything. Finally I grasped my own jacket and laid it over her, my hands underneath it as they held onto the wound.

She was starting to hurt. Her lips twitched, her eyelashes flickered. She wanted to wake up, I could tell, but I soothed her, speaking gentle words to her. "Lisbon … Teresa, stay calm. It is all okay. Think of a warm and gentle beach. Think of sunny days. Think of everything that you have always liked. Do not think of the pain. Let the pain escape your body. That's it, Teresa … Let yourself rest. You can do it, Lisbon. Just listen to my voice."

With that, her eyes focused on me briefly and closed. She was calm now. And so was I. I knew I could save her – and I would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two**

I heard the sirens approach. There were several of them: Cops, paramedics, the CBI. Suddenly the abandoned area was swarming with cars of people who came to help us. Doors slammed, footsteps came running towards the shack.

"Police! Let me see your hands!" An officer of the law entered first, his gun pulled and ready to shoot. I could hear several voices behind him talking, some of them ordering others to seal the area.

"I am Patrick Jane," I called out, refusing to let go of Lisbon's wound. "This is Special Agent Lisbon. She's been shot. Get the paramedics in here, hurry!"

The cop hesitated until I saw very familiar faces to my great relief. I saw Cho, now in charge, nodding at the cop, saying, "It's okay. He's with us." Then the team was surrounding us.

"Is the shooter still inside?" someone asked.

I shook my head. "He is long gone. It's just us."

Cho knelt beside me, hovering over Lisbon as he looked at me at the same time. "Jane. _Jane! _We're here. The paramedics are here too. They need to get to her. Let go of her, Jane. We've got her."

"No, no," I said, "I'm staying. She's bleeding out. I can't let go."

"Jane, you have to," Rigsby said, following inside alongside Van Pelt whose eyes spoke of the shock they all must have felt. It was just a stupid routine checkup! "They'll help her. Come on, let's get you up."

I shook my head. "I'm staying with her."

It was Van Pelt who finally knelt beside me, touched my arms and said quietly, "Jane. There is nothing more you can do now. Let them treat her."

I looked at the redhead. "My hands," I whispered at her. "I can't move them anymore."

I looked up at her, seeing her large eyes scanning me and she nodded, placing her own warm hands over my own, feeling how clamped and stiff they were. Then she lifted them up, letting go so quickly that I almost fell backwards, holding my hands up as my suit jacket fell off them.

Instantly the paramedics were hovering over Lisbon, checking her vitals, examining her wound and discussing amongst themselves what their next moves were. I sat on my butt at a very short distance, staring at them and trying to hold her hand but I couldn't reach it.

What I wouldn't give for her to open her eyes right now and scold at herself for not listening to me and leaving aside this stupid shack. What I wouldn't give to be able to say, "I told you so!"

I tried to move up, only to realize that I couldn't. My legs felt like two heavy, metal pipes filled with concrete. I had lost my will to make my body respond to my mind. Rigsby and Cho helped me up with gathered strengths. I leaned in between them as I stood on my own two wavering legs, smiling weakly. "Thanks."

We watched as Lisbon was lifted onto a gurney, her T-shirt torn open and her back covered in thick swabs to stop the bleeding. An oxygen mask was placed over her face, an IV already in to pump fluids into her. She was still on her side.

Anger surged through me as I realized that the coward who attacked us had shot her in the back. He had shot twice, luckily missing once or she probably wouldn't be here anymore. Van Pelt walked with them towards the waiting ambulance, volunteering to stay with her so that she wouldn't be alone.

Cho directed his attention towards me. "That second ambulance is for you, so let's go."

I smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can walk right now."

They looked at me more intently as I blinked against the sunlight and turned away my head. "I'm sorry," I said. "It's just fatigue. It will be better soon. Just a slight shock, I would say."

"What the hell happened?" Cho asked. "Who shot Lisbon?"

I realized I didn't know. We never saw him. If only this could have been a nightmare. If only we could turn back time and ignore that stupid lead that Lisbon was so desperate to follow. If only I had persuaded her to go for that Hot Dog sooner. If only I had been more persistent in leaving this dump and ignoring the lead.

"Jane. Jane!" Rigsby grasped my arm and shook me out of my stupor. "Jane, what's going on with you? Are you okay?"

I just shook my head slightly. "You can let go now. I can walk."

"Like hell you can," Rigsby said, still holding on tight as paramedics approached us.

One man shone a flashlight into my eyes, making me cringe. I couldn't stand the light. Then his hands probed at my face, scanning the area where it hurt the most. My forehead was on fire, or so it felt. "Can you see clearly?" the paramedic asked. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," I said. "And yes, I can see you very clearly. Can we go now? I want to get to the hospital to see Lisbon."

"You are going to the hospital," the paramedic reacted, "but as a patient. You've been shot, Mr. Jane."

"What? –"

"You've been shot. A bullet grazed your skull. Didn't you feel that?"

"I – no, I – We fell. And – No, Lisbon got shot, not me."

"Agent Lisbon took a bullet to the back but you took one to the head. We have to run some tests to determine the damage, sir."

"I'm not going anywhere except with her," I said stubbornly.

"She's already being transported," another paramedic said, "but we have an ambulance waiting for you too. Come on, nice and easy."

I looked helplessly at Rigsby and Cho. "Come on, Jane," Cho said. "I'll go with you. Rigsby, you stay here and push on the investigation. We'll talk later."

I finally nodded, giving in. The hospital was where I needed to be right now and I knew they would not let me go find that bastard that had tried to kill her. I would have to behave like a good little boy before I could get what I want.

The paramedics had brought another gurney inside the compound that I reluctantly laid down on. They strapped me tight and kept an eye on me as I was lifted, brought outside – blinded by the sunlight – and then lifted into the ambulance. Luckily there was no talk of oxygen or an IV or any of that. Just a checkup. I could live with that.

I had no choice but to do what they said and so, for once, I didn't object and allowed them to take me to the same hospital where Lisbon would be. A few minutes later we sped over the highway after the other ambulance, heading towards the nearest hospital.

We arrived together. As I was lifted out of the ambulance and wheeled into the ER, I followed where they were taking Lisbon. Cho followed us into a small cubicle, next to Lisbon's. I could hear them work on her. "Bloodwork, blood pressure, IV, fluids, X-Rays, … she's holding on. We might be lucky."

By that time, I was being lifted onto a bed too, despite my protests I could do that myself. "The doctor will be right here," she said and left Cho and I alone. Instantly I sat upwards and then sideways on the bed.

"Jane, what are you doing?" Cho said. "Lie back down."

"Like hell I will."

I let my legs slide onto the ground, allowing my feet to gently touch the ground. There, that wasn't so bad. I could walk. Hell, I could run if needs be!

"Jane, stay on the bed," Cho ordered. "Are you crazy?"

I smiled my wickedest grin and ignored him. I left my cubicle, Cho on my heels, and entered hers. There she was, on her side, dressed in a hospital gown gaping open at the back. They were examining her wound, taking X-Rays to locate the bullet inside of her.

"It seems lodged in a rib," a doctor said. "If that's the case, she's one hell of a lucky woman."

"Can you get it out?" I asked.

They were startled by my sudden question. Even Van Pelt, who hadn't seen me as she stood in the cubicle watching them work on her boss and friend.

"Who is that guy?" the doctor said, "get him out of here."

"He's with me," Van Pelt said, eyeing me worriedly. "Jane, why aren't you being checked out?"

"Later," I shrugged. "Can you save her?"

"We're doing our best," the doctor in the white coat said, returning his full focus on her. "Prep her for surgery. We're going in to get that bullet out."

I stood at a safe distance, staring at them working on her, balling my hands in pure anger. I swore to find whoever did this to her and have them pay. Silently I begged for her to hold on, hoping I could somehow force some strength into her.

I saw them prepare her and wheel her away, following them. "No," Cho said, "you can't go with them. Van Pelt will go. You're staying put."

"I have to, Cho," I spoke, almost desperately. "She needs to know we're here for her."

"She knows, Jane," Van Pelt replied. "I'll go with her and I'll stay until we have more news. Besides, she'd be so mad if she knew you weren't taken care of. Look at yourself, you're bleeding all over the place."

I stared at her. "Am I?"

"Yeah." She pointed at my hands. "Look."

Now I saw blood dripping onto my hands. Blood coming from my face. "Where did that come from?" I asked confused.

"You were shot, remember?" Cho replied dryly.

I smiled wearily. "No, I wasn't. I hit my head on the ground when she … when she saved me. Did you know that she saved me, Cho? That I was talking about stupid Hot Dogs and she was telling me that she heard a noise? Did you know that?"

"No."

"It's my fault. I took away her attention. I made stupid jokes. If I had listened to her, we would not be here."

"You were doing your job. So was she."

"No, I was being a wise ass."

"You break cases being a wise ass. Stop beating yourself over it."

They wheeled her bed out towards the elevators to bring her to the operating rooms. Van Pelt smiled at us and then followed, stepping inside the elevator with Lisbon and the medical staff accompanying her.

"Now it's your turn," Cho said determinedly. "Let's get you back on that bed."

"Can you bring me back to the CBI?" I asked, turning towards him.

"Didn't you hear me, Jane? You're not going anywhere. You're in terrible shape, in case you hadn't noticed."

I felt tears of pure frustration push into my eyes. I was angry, so very angry. "Cho, Lisbon is fighting for her life because someone decided to shoot a bullet in her back. Do you honestly think I'm going to sit back and just relax?"

"Jane, I've seen you work in the strangest ways possible," Cho said, "but I am not going to give in."

I sighed, realizing there was no point fighting him. I could persuade just about anyone except this man, knowing he would win the fight. And that goddamn throbbing in my head just wouldn't stop. It hurt like a bitch. Why the hell wouldn't that just stop? "Could you get me some Tylenol?" I asked, tired of fighting. "My head is killing me–"

"What's wrong?"

"I just want that freaking headache to stop."

Walking towards a medical cart I tried to recognize some sort of pill that looked familiar and could help me. Rummaging through the bottles and boxes, I saw a nurse approaching us. "Sir, what are you doing?"

"I need something for my headache," I replied, probably sounding like a madman, obviously looking it too with Lisbon's and my own blood literally on my hands.

She eyed me suspiciously. "And shouldn't we take a look at the rest of you?"

"The rest of me is fine," I snapped. "Can someone please just help me out here?"

I wavered, my right hand grasping the cart, only to see it fall as I pulled it towards me. My knees buckled and I fell forward on the ground, rolling on my side as I hit the floor, staring at the fallen medication.

Cho looked at me, kneeling down as I tried to get up. "Hey, Jane, you okay man? Jane, focus on me." He turned his head towards the nurses approaching us quickly as I clutched my head in sudden, blinding pain. "I need some help here! Jane?"

I looked into his eyes, realizing his face had become a blur. I shook my head slightly, realizing that hey, they might have a point. Perhaps I did need some help.

"Hey man," Cho said calmly, "just relax. Help is coming."

I saw a man in a white coat by my side. He lifted my eyelids (which I desperately tried to close again against the light), checked my pulse and watched me groan wearily, all fight lost. "Gunshot wound, concussion, … get him in there right now."

I felt myself being lifted off the cold tiles, lifted into a cubicle and onto a bed. This time there was a damned oxygen mask and an IV. Everything around me was a blur.

"Jane," Cho said, hovering over me. "It's alright. You'll be fine."

I smiled wearily through my oxygen mask. "Lisbon – I need -"

'We're here, Jane,' Cho said. 'You'll be fine. Listen to my voice. Try to stay awake."

That was easier said than done. And it was also the last thing I remembered from that day.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so very much for your wonderful reactions! On with the show :)

**Part three**

Around dawn I woke up in a semi-private room. It was pitch dark in there, only on small waking light burning near the door. There was a strange sort of silence one could only find in hospital rooms, accompanied by the sound of beeping monitors.

Damn it, I thought as I probed my arms in search for the whatever cables and tubes they had stuck into me. I felt an IV-needle stuck in my hand, a heart monitor attached to my chest, a blood pressure machine attached to my upper arm. My head was wrapped in bandages, the front end of my right side skull hurting like hell.

Someone I hadn't noticed before moved inside the room. I looked up to find Grace Van Pelt sitting there in a large leather chair. Noticing I was awake, she moved forward. "Hey," she spoke quietly, gently, "Good to have you back. How are you feeling?"

The fact that Van Pelt had taken over Lisbon's role as my caretaker, meant that I hadn't slept all that long and that Lisbon was probably still in the ICU – or worse.

"I'm okay," I said, my voice betraying I felt like crap. "What happened?"

"You had us worried for a while. You've been shot. Do you remember that?"

"Vaguely."

"Your head took quite a blow. You have a major concussion and a deep cut where the bullet struck your temple. But with the necessary rest you'll be fine. Do you even remember anything from yesterday?"

I had to dig deep into my thoughts to bring back some painful memories. "I remember … Lisbon."

Van Pelt didn't cringe at the mention of her name, I took that as a good sign. She must still be alive. But as she continued, she spoke very seriously. "She's still in the ICU. She is doing as well as can be expected. She's had surgery last night. They removed the bullet from her back. She's not out of the woods yet. The bullet nicked an artery and broke one rib that protruded her long. One more inch to the left and she would have died in that shack. Rigsby is with her."

"Is she awake?"

"No. They are keeping her sedated. Her body needs to recover from the trauma it's been through. They are talking about waking her tomorrow, depending on how she'll do today."

"I want to see her."

"You will, but not right now," Van Pelt said determinedly. "Jane, the doctor ordered complete rest for you. You don't know how lucky you have been. You have a severe concussion. You were unconscious for twelve hours. They are as worried about you as much as they are about her. You could cause

yourself serious damage if you ignore doctor's orders. Focus on yourself now. She's in good hands and she will get better."

The anger I had felt last night came back in such overwhelming fashion I knew I couldn't ignore it. I hadn't felt like this ever since that night of Angela's and Charlotte's deaths. After all of these years hunting for Red John, I knew that revenge was something that burned inside of me and I would not give up until I found the one who had done this to us. This person, the one who had shot us, was not a serial killer. He was a regular man, an ignorant, petty little man who had felt threatened by us. And he was right to feel even more scared now, because I would come after him and pay him what he deserved.

"I know who shot us," I said. "We all know who did it. Suspect number 3, the one we least expected."

"Everyone's looking for him, Jane. They'll find him before you did, especially in this state you're in. Let them do their jobs."

Frustrated I grasped the side of my bed sheet, knowing they would not let me go. I sunk my head back into the pillows in pure frustration, breathing in and out, forcing myself to stay calm. I could take the lead in this one. I could. All I had to do is convince them that I had given up.

"You're right," I said, watching her eye me suspiciously. "I'll leave you to it. Goodnight, Van Pelt."

"Jane –"

I shut my eyes deliberately, locking her out of my thoughts and ignoring her as if she wasn't there. Reluctantly Van Pelt took the hint and left the room, obviously suspecting me. "Get some rest, Jane. I'll be back later."

With that, she left the room.

Despite everything, I smiled. Lisbon would not have let me get off the hook that easily. She would have known just by looking at me. But Lisbon wasn't here and I was pulling together all of my strengths to find a mental place where I could retreat into in order to escape from this bed.

After ten long minutes of waiting and listening to see if anyone is coming back, I start pulling off all the wires and bandages. Then I pull out the IV, letting the tube drip onto the floor. I sway off the bed and shuffle towards a closet where my clothes are waiting for me. Slowly and painfully I get dressed, taking deep breaths, in and out, to repress the pain.

Ready to go, I slowly open the door and peek outside. Only to find Special Agent Cho leaning against the blind side of the wall, waiting patiently for me to emerge.

"Damn," I mutter, feeling trapped.

"You don't fool me as easily as Van Pelt," he said, not even smirking. "Back in you go."

"No," I said. "I'm going after that guy. And either you go with me or I'm going to knock you out and leave anyhow."

Now he snorted. "Yeah right."

I relaxed, trying to make him see common sense. I knew I could talk anyone of the team into anything. It was just a matter of finding my mojo and have them fall into the trap. But Cho just stood there and watched me try to figure out what to say next.

"Look," I said, "Lisbon's in a coma and the three of you are understaffed. You need me to find that guy. I'm fine, honestly. I swear."

"Yeah right," he repeated. "You don't fool me, Jane. You might fool yourself into believing that there is nothing wrong but I'm not taking the responsibility of letting you go in this state."

"Alright then," I said, straightening my back. "I'm discharging myself. You know I can do that, there is no one to stop me."

He sighed deeply. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?" Knowing all too well I hadn't.

"Cho, come on. You can supervise me, you can take care of me, hell you can go to the store and get my favorite tea so I can recover quicker. But don't do this to me. You know I need to be out there, doing _something_."

"I know," Cho said, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for something. "And since I knew you were going to say that, I've taken some precautions."

As if on cue, behind his back, came Van Pelt and Rigsby, both carrying laptops, a printer, cell phones, paper, … well, basically, a mobile office. I stared at them in pure shock. Only to deliver them my broadest smile. "I knew you guys loved me."

"Yeah, yeah," Cho muttered. "Under one condition, Jane. If you die on us, I swear I'll kill you again myself. Too many headaches, too many problems and you're going to the ICU under the guardianship of the firmest nurse I can find. If they tell you that you need to eat, you'll eat. If they say you need to take pills, you'll take the pills. If you have to rest, you'll rest. Agreed?"

"Agreed." I couldn't help but smile as they started to install all of their equipment inside of my room. Darkness and all. They were prepared to do it all to help me out and yet make sure that my body healed enough. Hell, I could live with any term he wanted. In fact, at that very moment, Cho was my big hero.

"Don't look at me like that, Jane," Cho said, watching me watching him. "I don't want you to drop dead, that's all."

"Yeah, yeah." I smirked, knowing I had – at least partially – won this battle, as I settled down and relaxed in my hospital bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so much for your great reviews, private messages, Followings, I am really really happy about that! Reviews are very much appreciated :)

I am pleased to say the story is written, so I Will continue to post a chapter every day :)

**Part Four**

Okay, I had to admit that rest wasn't such a bad idea in my case. I kept on falling asleep in between sessions in which we discussed our case. More often than not, my eyes betrayed me, closing just as Van Pelt was explaining her research. I heard her sigh the last time that happened.

"Jane, are you doing this on purpose?" she asked agitated, almost slamming shut her laptop, making Rigsby and Van Pelt look up.

"No, of course not," I said for the umpteenth time. "I was awake, please continue Grace."

She eyed me suspiciously. "You're taking revenge, aren't you?"

"Revenge?"

"Yeah, because Lisbon and I agreed that searching through that shed was a good idea."

"Van Pelt, I don't believe in revenge," I replied dryly. "Especially not on colleagues. Of course there are serial killers and all that, which do deserve to be killed. But I haven't blamed you for anything nor will I do so in future. So no, my falling asleep is not an act of revenge, it's an act of my human body betraying my sharp mind that desperately wants to stay awake."

"Oh. Okay." With that she reopened her laptop and continued to read aloud from the file that we had on Thomas Delaney, our – now – major suspect in a double crime.

"So, as I have read – about a thousand times now –" Van Pelt continued, "Thomas Delaney, age 25, is the son of Margaret and Jack Westfield. After their divorce, Jack Westfield moved to Florida, ruling him out in the suspicious attack on Margaret Westfield. As we had concurred before, he had no reason to kill her, as they were still friends and had regular contact. Margaret Westfield remarried to Donald Delaney three years ago. According to all the interviews and information that we have, they are good friends and have had no arguments since the relationship started."

"Donald Delaney's alibi checked out," Rigsby said, "During the time of her attack, he was at a local bar watching a football game. He has been identified by the bartender as a regular client and was supposed to meet up with friends, who, as it later turned out, weren't there due to a misunderstanding in dates. Mr. Delaney however has been seen during the entire evening and is not under suspicion."

I leaned back in the pillows listening to their story. "And Thomas had no alibi, right? He was at home, upstairs, when his mother was attacked, claiming to have been playing nerdy videogames with a headset blasting loud music through his ears. He came downstairs and found his mother bleeding to death in her living room, called 911 and basically saved her."

"Yeah, but since she has been unconscious and in a coma since, she can't exonerate him and we are left with only his story."

"And the two other suspects that the local PD came up with: The Lover and The Gardener," Cho added.

"Yep," Rigsby confirmed. "They found it very suspicious that the gardener would be there at 9 PM on that evening but Donald Delaney did confirm that he often worked there at night at his own request. And since it's summer, there is plenty of evening sun to do so."

"And The Lover?"

"Now that's another story," Van Pelt said, adding the juicy bits of this triangle affair. "Apparently Mrs. Westfield and Mr. Delaney have/had a very open marriage and have been seeing a lot – and I do mean a lot – of other people during their short marriage. They even went to swinger parties together and shared their respective partners, something Mr. Delaney immediately confessed to when we interrogated him."

"So that leaves us with dozens of suspects then instead of just The Lover," I muttered with closed eyes.

"Actually, no, because The Lover that was there that night was the only one who was in the area. Mr. Delaney has made a list of people that he knew by name had been involved with her, not including the swingers as this happens anonymously. There is no reason whatsoever though to suspect them."

"Leaves us with the question why the local PD contacted us," Cho said. "Since Lisbon takes on the cases, we weren't in the loop."

"Because Mrs. Margaret Westfield lives up to her beautiful and lovely sounding name, she's a very powerful and highly placed woman with connections to the governor himself, making her case a very visible one for the outside world," I retorted from my bed.

"A lot of food for the press," Van Pelt added.

"You can be sure of that," Cho continued. As replacing head he was now in charge of the investigation and would have to watch very carefully where he headed with this story. "The Governor wants this resolved quick and clean. We were just assigned the case yesterday. Lisbon had briefed me on the morning of your attack that she considered refusing it because of its exposure. But Gale Bertram insisted that she would take it and had her look into it."

"Which lead us to that shed," I said. "Thomas Delaney is known as a loner with a very difficult background. Exposed to drugs at the age of thirteen, in juvenile prison at fourteen, released four times – if I recall it correctly – arrested a dozen or so times, and so on, and so on."

"Even though he lived at home and had sworn to have changed his lifestyle, he was still one of the best suspects," Van Pelt said. "It would make the best sense, wouldn't it? Young man living under the same roof as his demanding mother, getting into an argument with her over money, drugs or whatever, losing his patience, grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing her into a coma."

"Then why wouldn't he have sought out a better alibi?" Rigsby replied. "Or why didn't he run?"

"Because he didn't do it," I spoke from my bed.

The three of them looked at me. "Did you forget you were shot in _his_ shack?" Van Pelt asked. "And that we can't find him anymore?"

I looked directly at her. "The fact that we were attacked in his shed doesn't have to mean anything unless we can prove that he was there. To what end? What did he do there and what does that shed mean to him?"

The local PD had told us that Thomas Westfield had run off after his interrogation to an unknown location. That's when we were brought in. To run means guilt in the eyes of the law. They'd had their suspect, probably their killer, and then they had lost him. The Governor had been pretty upset about these facts, wanting to clear them out straight away. And so Lisbon was asked – let's make that _ordered_ – to take on the case.

It was Van Pelt who had dug out a lot of details from Thomas' past. His bad friends, his drug runs, and a lot of hideouts he had been staying at during his bad times. The shed had been on that list. Van Pelt and Lisbon both agreed it was worth a shot going there and I had let myself talk into it by Lisbon who – deviously – had made a detour driving there on our way back from a testimony in court. "Come on, Jane," I could still hear her say. "It's just a small detour. And besides, we need to get this over with quickly, the sooner the better. I hate it when the Governor breathes down my neck."

_If only the Governor had minded his own damned business_, I thought now.

"So what are our thoughts about all of this now?" Cho asked. "Do we believe that Thomas Westfield shot the two of you? Or do we go with the idea that some junkie might have taken up shop in that shed after he abandoned it?"

"Both," I said. "We follow both leads. But I need to have more insight on Thomas Westfield. And since he's not here to talk to us, we need to talk to the people closest to him. His father, his stepfather, his friends, anyone who can help us get inside of his head. That's our first lead."

"I received a list of fingerprints that were found at the crime scene – the shed I mean," Van Pelt added. "There are literally hundreds of them. According to a neighborhood survey, the shack has been a drug-paradise for ages. Every night the junkies gather for their shots."

"We found not a single needle there though," I said.

"They've been very careful. Besides, now that they know the cops have been there, they won't return and find a new hideout," Cho said. "They have plenty of choices all around town. I know that from my time at Narcotics. If it was a stray junkie, he'll be protected by the community's silence."

"Either way, we have to go back there and canvas the shed from top to bottom," Rigsby proposed. "Someone might have left some clue."

"No use," Van Pelt retorted. "I went there last night and spoke with the local PD as well. There isn't a single shred of evidence left."

"So," I said, ignoring the throbbing, returning headache. "That is literally a dead end."

"Which brings us back to our first theory, that Thomas Westfield ran like hell because he is a) guilty of his mother's attack, or b) terrified that he would not be believed and decided to run away to escape possible prosecution," Rigsby concluded.

"And we need to find him through his friends and family," I added tiredly, my eyes drooping again.

A nurse walked in at that time, looking firmly at the others. "Mr. Jane needs his medication and his rest." She turned off all the small lights the team had turned on here and there in order to be able to read their notes yet to leave the room dark enough for my brain to heal. "I suggest you go have some coffee."

Before I could say anything, she emptied a syringe into my IV, fluffed up my pillows and shoved the blankets higher over me while lowering my bed. "I would protest if you weren't so damn sexy," I muttered under my breath.

"If you would protest, I would drug you for twenty-four hours more," she retorted. "Sleep, Mr. Jane."

"Yes, sir." I mumbled, feeling the impact of the medication hitting me like a brick.

Van Pelt stood, waving quietly at the others, as if I wouldn't notice. "We'll go gather that list," she said. Before I could say another word, they had shut down their laptops, taking them with them and left the room. After that, I slept restfully for hours.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part five**

The door opened, closed and woke me up. I was confused at first as to where I was and had difficulty concentrating on my whereabouts. I must have mumbled something because Van Pelt suddenly stood at my bedside, touching my arm.

"Jane? Jane," she said, shaking me slightly.

I looked at her then. "Van Pelt. How's Lisbon doing?"

She smiled at that question. "She's doing okay. Shouldn't you be asking how are you doing?"

"Oh, but I'm doing fine," I smiled back. "Can't you tell? Good as new. Did you get that list ready?"

"Better than that, we've set up interviews with four people from Thomas' direct surroundings. His father is flying over tonight and will be here tomorrow morning. Donald Delaney is coming in soon and two of his best friends have also agreed to talk to us."

"Good … good. That's very good."

"Jane …"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you say it was your fault Lisbon got shot?"

I stared into Van Pelt's eyes. "Because it was. I was distracting her. If I had listened to her, she would have noticed there was someone in there."

"But you are sharper of mind than she is and you didn't notice it either."

I held my breath at that thought. "I'm not sharper of mind than Lisbon."

"Yes, you are. You are sharper than anyone of us. You see the little details we never notice. That's why you are so valuable to our team. You pick up on the little things while we do our jobs like … well, like normal people."

I almost laughed. "Does that mean that I'm abnormal?"

Van Pelt smiled. "You know what I mean. And yes, you are not exactly a regular person, are you? I've never seen anyone think so quick on his feet. Even with a major concussion you outwit us all."

I shook my head lightly. "Van Pelt … Grace, anyone can learn what I do. It takes training, yes, and it takes certain skills, but you are clever, bright and very much devoted to your job. I would trust you with my life every day."

She blushed at that. "Thank you. And I disagree, by the way."

"About?"

"It wasn't your fault. The person who pulled that trigger is at fault. He chose to shoot you. That makes him the demon in this affair. So don't beat yourself up over it."

"I won't," I said slowly, knowing in my heart that she was right. Had my years of feeling guilty from sunrise to sunset made me feel responsible for everything that happened to my friends and co-workers without even giving it a second thought? I had become so used to the guilt that it had become a second nature.

Van Pelt sat down at the small table in my room, opening her laptop. I laid back and watched her as she worked, quietly and quickly, as she always did.

"Van Pelt?"

"Yeah, Jane?"

"I need to see her."

"The doctor said you had to stay in bed until further notice."

"Can't you get me a wheelchair? Please, I really need to see her."

She hesitated. "Jane, I know that you want to, but you are not doing yourself any good if you disobey the doctor. Tomorrow, alright?"

"Grace, please. I – I'm not used to begging, but I am doing it now. Please take me to her. I need to know that she's alright. Otherwise I won't be able to shake off the guilt." I was working hard on Van Pelt's emotions now. I saw her debating inside, her common sense fighting her emotional thoughts.

"Alright," she said after an eternity.

She stood up and left the room. I pushed away the sheets and drew my legs on the left side of the bed, shifting them carefully onto the ground. They remained standing firm. A slight shock of pain shot through my head as I moved, but that was okay. It was bearable.

I knew I couldn't get rid of the IV so I decided to go for the consensus. If I wanted to see Lisbon, I would have to do it on _their_ terms. And to be honest, I felt like crap. Cho and the others were right: There was, at this moment, no way I could make it out of this hospital like this, let alone track down Westfield on my own. I need to recover as quickly as humanly possible. Only then would they let me out. Only then would I be able to catch the bastard who did this to us.

But with every waking moment, I knew the chances grew he would have left the state by now. And soon he could be forever out of our reach. That thought infuriated me.

Standing on the cold floor in my bare feet and idiot hospital gown, I made a mental way through the pain, refusing to allow anyone to see how painful this whole ordeal was. Like hell though I was going to allow Van Pelt to wheel me through this hospital like a sick man, in a wheelchair, with my legs bare and my butt on sight for everyone. I needed my clothes.

I stumbled towards the closet and pulled out my clothes. These were not the ones with which I had come in yesterday. I remembered vaguely how they had cut them open at the ER. Van Pelt – it had to be her – had brought a fresh set of clothes to the hospital with her. My beloved brown shoes were there, black socks, underwear, shirt, jacket, pants. Almost complete.

As quickly as I could I removed the hospital gown and stepped into my boxers. Then followed the shirt, where I had to struggle with the IV-bags to push them through the sleeve. Panting from exhaustion, I stepped into my dark blue trousers. By that time I decided to forget about the jacket, socks and shoes. That was no use.

The door opened with Van Pelt entering, wheeling in a chair. "Jane," she said, looking directly at the now empty bed. "Jane, for goodness sake …!" For a second she thought I had fled, only to find me siting on the chair, half-dressed and panting from pure exhaustion.

"What the hell did you do?" she asked sharply.

"I hate being without my clothes," I muttered.

She wanted to retort but thought against it, knowing all too well how self-conscious I was about my appearance.

"I got you your chair," she just said, helping me to stand and then sit. She pulled the IV-bags off the pole and placed them in my lap. "Let's go."

Outside of the room it was very bright and I had blinked against the sudden sharp lights that attacked my eyes. "Cover your eyes," she ordered and I did as she advised.

She wheeled me through our corridor towards an elevator. Lisbon was one floor down. I memorized the route. "She's still in ICU," Van Pelt said. "They know we're coming."

"Thanks, Van Pelt."

"You're welcome." That's all she said.

We must have looked strange together, me in my half-suit, bare feet resting up, she in her CBI-outfit with a gun still clinging to her side. But here we were, arriving at the ICU-unit where Lisbon was located.

Van Pelt wheeled me to a small cubicle in the back of the ICU where Lisbon lay, separated from other patients with glass windows and curtains to protect her privacy. She was surrounded by all sorts of equipment to keep her alive. Monitors to watch her stir, monitors to monitor her heart and blood pressure, monitors to watch the blood supply.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Van Pelt said. "And by the way, Jane, you saved her life by pushing down on her wound. If you hadn't, she would have bled to death in that shed."

I took that in quietly.

"They're still keeping her sedated as her lung suffered the most."

I watched Lisbon's chest move slightly, almost invisibly. She was a small and very slim human being but now she almost looked like a child; a pale, dark-haired child with machines breathing for her. She would have hated the thought of being kept alive by a tube. I could just imagine her protests when they were to pull the tube out of her throat and mouth.

"Her will to live is strong," a nurse said as she entered the cubicle. "She'll be fine."

"Will she have lasting injuries from this?" I asked fearfully.

"The doctor doesn't think so," the nurse replied. "We just keep her sedated so her lung gets plenty of time to recuperate. She will be in some pain when she wakes up but she should heal quickly. She was a very lucky woman."

I pushed myself out of the wheelchair and stood near her bed. "Lisbon?" I said, my left hand – the one without the IV shoved into it, touching her black hair. I felt so responsible for her, like she did for me. I remembered so many times that I held her, comforted her and when she held me and comforted me. We had grown so close that it had become painful, almost. I couldn't even start to begin to express what she meant to me. I just knew that I felt a responsibility towards her I had never felt before for anyone.

"Jane?" Van Pelt rested her hand on my shoulder as I snapped out of my thoughts. I smiled wearily.

"It's okay, Van Pelt." I turned towards her. And fell into her arms.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part six**

"You seriously pissed off the medical staff," Cho said calmly as he handed me a glass of water. "Both of you, by the way," he added, directing himself at a flushed Van Pelt who sat quietly by my bedside feeling overly guilty.

"I asked Van Pelt to take me to see her," I replied. "It's not her fault."

"What part of "stay in your bed, doctor's orders", do you not understand, Jane?"

Oh boy, I guess Cho is really angry this time.

I shrugged, leaning into the pillows of this godforsaken bed. "Don't shout at me, I have a headache."

"Good. Serves you right this time. And by the way, just so you know, there is this tiny little thing called Second Impact. Do you know what that is?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure you're about to tell me right now."

"It means that when you have a severe concussion, like in your case, a second blow to the head – let's say by falling on the floor of a certain ICU-unit in this hospital – could kill you. Therefore not immediately, not even within the minute, but within the hour. But that's just a minor detail, isn't it, Jane?"

"I didn't fall on the ground. Grace held me."

"Because she happened to be in the way."

I shrugged. "Look, nothing happened, alright? I'm fine, Lisbon's fine, we're all fine. Get over it. Now, when can we move forward on this?"

Cho shook his head slightly. "You don't get it, do you? I accommodated you with space to work here; I allowed the team to amuse you. But right now, this case is over for you. You are going to get the rest that you need and then, when you're released, you can join us again. Doctor's orders, which I'm sure you would be happy to ignore again."

I knew Cho would not give up and that I had to please him. "Look," I said calmly. "I thought I was up for it, okay? Van Pelt even picked up a wheelchair. I had a fainting spell, that's all. Don't make a big deal out of it. Please Cho, let me help. You know you could use me."

I saw him waver, considering the options. Even concussed I had a witty mind and could see right through people. I knew it, he knew it and we also knew that I could crack this case sooner than anyone. That was just a pure fact.

He looked at me firmly, his face as calm as ever. "Last chance, Jane. If you even move one foot out of that bed, we're out of here."

"Can I go to the bathroom? Or are you going to hand me a bedpan?"

Cho turned his back and ignored me.

"Just so you know, Cho, I really need to go."

About half an hour or so later, I guess Cho wasn't as pissed off anymore as he had been before. He actually started to talk to me again instead of ignoring me while I impatiently tapped my fingers on the bed sheets and hummed stupid songs that annoyed the hell out of him.

"By the way," I asked. "I just remembered something. When we first read the file on Thomas Westfield, it said that he was in prison at the time of the murder. I remember that's why we both thought it was a wild goose chase. But didn't you say that he was at home, upstairs in his room, when it happened?"

"That's right," Cho replied. "That's odd. Why would the file say he was in prison?"

"A mix up," Grace answered the question. He had been released only three hours earlier. It was only a week's jail by the way. His mother (again) got him out on bail. He was arrested for drug possession but he claimed he was framed. When they tested him, his blood work was clean so he wasn't charged on drug abuse. He was charged though on dealing."

"Did he have a track record of dealing?"

"No, not at all. He was a known and notorious user but not a dealer. Why would he be? His mother is loaded, it's not like he needed the cash. Anyhow, when the cops started interrogating him, they mixed up the hours of his release and his homecoming."

"So basically the kid was in jail and then he came home, said hi to his mother, went upstairs and started playing videogames while his mother was murdered downstairs. Strange timing," I spoke slowly.

"What are your thoughts, Jane?"

"I believe that he was framed for the murder. The killer knew he was heading home and waited for this moment. Perhaps he believed that the kid would run, but he didn't. Well, not at first anyhow. He only ran after the interrogation, didn't he? So why would he do that?"

"Because someone spooked him or threatened him," Rigsby offered. "He may have been traumatized and believed that they would charge him for attempted murder."

"But none of the cops there did, did they? No one pressed chargers." I rubbed my chin. "Perhaps he was coerced into leaving."

"By who?" Van Pelt asked curiously.

"Someone close to him. His father?"

"If that's the case, then he's probably on his way to Florida by now to meet his dad."

"Who is on his way here," Cho said. "So he'll be standing before a locked door. Van Pelt, contact the Florida Police and have them setup a stakeout in front of the father's house. You never know if he might show up there."

A harsh knock on the door startled us and we all looked up at the stranger entering the room. He was a fifty-something, well-dressed man sticking his head inside. "Excuse me," he hesitated. "I'm looking for Special Agent Cho?"

"Yes," Cho confirmed. "Mr. Delaney?"

"That's right." The man entered the room, shaking hands with Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby before staring at me. "I'm sorry, he said, "but this is all a bit strange. Mr. ..?"

"This is our consultant, Patrick Jane," Cho explained. "He was attacked during the investigation into your wife's attempted murder. Since he's not allowed to leave, we've set up camp here for the time being."

He stared at me curiously. "Isn't that a bit out of the ordinary?"

"Mr. Jane is a valuable resource to our investigation, sir. I can assure you that it is necessary to be here."

"It's my head that hurts, not my mind," I said wittily. "Mr. Delaney, can I ask you some questions about your son?"

"Stepson," he corrected me.

"Of course," I smiled slowly. "Your stepson. Do you know where he is right now?"

"No. I can't say that I do."

"Do you think he tried to kill your wife?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "Why would he? She was the only one who still believed in him."

"So you don't believe that he tried to murder her? That he didn't attack her with a huge kitchen knife and stab her?"

He stared at me ludicrously. "Excuse me? That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

I looked him into the eyes. "Did _you _ kill her, Mr. Delaney?"

"No!" he almost shouted. "I was at a bar having drinks."

"So?"

He became white red in anger. "Who the hell are you accusing me of this heinous crime? I loved my wife! We were barely married for a couple of years!"

"So? There is no timeframe on killing, is there?"

Flushed and frustrated Mr. Delaney marched towards the door. "I didn't come here to have some jerk pull my chains. If the Governor knew about this, he would shut down your department."

"Mr. Delaney," Cho spoke firmy. "Mr. Jane is only doing his job. We are focusing on two paths here: Who tried to kill your wife and who tried to kill Special Agent Lisbon and Mr. Jane. If the two are connected and it proves to be your stepson, we need to find him as soon as possible before he hurts anyone else. Now, do you have any idea where he might have gone? Does he have special friends in the area that he could rely on? Does he have money he can use? Do you think he might try to track down his father in Florida?"

Delaney calmed down visibly. I watched him, not liking this man at all, alibi or not.

"Look," Delaney spoke after a short while. "My stepson had a lot of problems, alright? Truth be told, I don't know if he's capable of killing his mother. I have barely seen him in the past few years. He was also in jail, or high, or in that stupid shack of his where he used to bunk out when I forbade him to come home, hoping his mom wouldn't see how bad it was again. But lately he seemed to be doing better. He cleaned up, even cleaned out that shack and swore he wouldn't go there anymore. But now? I don't know what to believe. So I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Do you love him?" I asked bluntly.

He blinked at that question. "What is love? Yes, I loved him – or at least I tried to. But I'm not sure if that was enough, it never was. Then again, no one could stop him from taking those damned drugs. Tommy could be such a bastard when he was high. Does that answer your question?"

I nod slowly. "Yes, I have all the answers I need. Thank you, Mr. Delaney."

Delaney nodded and said, "Goodbye." Then he left the room.

I looked at the team and said, "Forget the manhunt. Tommy Westfield is dead. We're looking for a body now."

The others stared at me in shock, not understanding my sudden statement. But I knew that the boy was dead, as certain as I knew Lisbon was still in that ICU-unit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part seven**

Okay, I confess that I'm a pusher. I push hard and harder until I get what I want. It has always helped me in life. During my carnie life, I could even persuade my dad into doing things he never would have done had I not insisted constantly. If I hadn't pushed on and on, I wouldn't have escaped that life, taking Angela with me. If I hadn't been so persistent, I wouldn't have made it to the big leagues as a fake psychic.

If I hadn't been who I was, I would not have survived Angela's and Charlotte's deaths. I would have put a bullet in my head and ended the mental suffering that had been part of my life for so long now.

So when I confessed to the fact that I was a pusher, it's just to state that I really did know what I was doing when I waited until evening fell and my three companions were tired, hungry and eager to go home. Mr. Westfield, Tommy's dad, had called to inform us he would arrive in the morning, having difficulties with his flight. I wanted to let him know that he shouldn't be in a hurry anymore; that it wouldn't matter anymore.

Before they'd left, Van Pelt asked the question that burned on all of their lips. "How do you know that Tommy is dead?"

I smiled and looked at them. "You don't know?"

"No, I don't know."

"He's dead, probably buried or hidden away somewhere, by Donald Delaney."

"Mr. Delaney? The stepdad? The man who just came in? Why?"

"He made an error when he started talking about Thomas. He spoke in the past tense. Didn't you notice? When I asked him if he loved him, he replied. Not: I love him. But, I loved him. And he did that several times. He knew that Tommy was dead because he killed him."

"Is that all?" Cho had said. "Is that your lead?"

"Yep. And I know it's right."

"So you're not saying that Delaney killed his stepson. Then who attacked his wife?"

"That, I don't know yet. It could be Tommy. It could Donald."

"He had the perfect alibi", Van Pelt had protested.

"Then he hired someone to do it, while hiding in plain sight. Check his financial records for any inconsistencies. If there was money paid, you'll find it, Van Pelt."

She had nodded, making a mental note.

"Look," I had said. "It's getting late and you guys should be heading home. I'll just go to sleep now and see you in the morning."

Then they had all eyed me suspiciously. "What are you up to, Jane?" Rigsby had asked.

"Nothing," I had replied innocently. "Look, I really am tired and need some sleep. The more I rest, the sooner I get out of here, right?"

"Right …"

"So you guys get some rest too and come back here in the morning. Alright?"

Reluctantly they had packed up their stuff and left.

"I will see you again tomorrow, right Jane?" Cho had threatened. "If not …"

"I promise you that I will see you in the morning. Scout's honor."

"Good. Goodnight."

With that, the team had left.

They had no idea how much I had mentally coerced them into leaving. They had done exactly what I wanted them to do and they wouldn't think a bad thought about me all night. They would be at home, resting, eating, sleeping, whatever and they would not think of returning.

I did sleep. For about an hour or so. The nurse walking in to check up on me switched off all the lights and left me alone for the night. And when it was pitch black outside and the night nurses came on duty, always too little of them, I knew nobody would come in here and see if I was still in here.

I carefully pulled out my IV and placed the tube and needle on the chair. I carefully lowered myself out of bed and onto the ground. I felt better than this morning. If I acted really, really calm, I would be okay.

Slowly I dressed completely, opened the door and peeked outside. There wasn't anyone on the floor.

Carefully I shut the door and tiptoed towards the staircase next to the elevators, hoping nobody would notice me.

So far so good, I escaped fairly easily. Downstairs in the lobby, the receptionist was watching television. It was fortunately a quiet evening.

Outside I felt lucky once more as three cabs were standing in line, waiting for unexpected passengers. I stepped into the first one and gave the cabdriver an address in the city. He looked at it, then looked at the bandages around my head, nodded and drove off. About twenty minutes later, he dropped me off.

"Wait here," I said, handing him a fifty dollar bill. "I'll be back in an hour."

Standing outside in the cold air, I pulled off the white bandage, pulled my short curls down a bit in the hope to cover my forehead, stretched my arms and legs and walked inside, into a pool of noise and voices.

Less than half an hour later I was puking my guts out in the stinking toilets, leaning in cold sweat against the cold tiles, straightened up, straightened myself out and left the same way as I had gone in.

The cab driver was still there. I gave him another address and he drove off. "You look like hell," he said. "Shouldn't you go back to the hospital?"

I shook my head. "Nope. This address will do."

After that, neither of us spoke another word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part eight **

"Jane? Jane, what the hell are _you_ doing _here_? Jane!"

Strong hands shook me to the sharp and blinding here and now, bringing me out of my restless sleep on my favorite couch at the CBI's office. I was lying on my side, a blanket over me, as always. It was just a regular old day.

"Yeah, what?" I mumbled, realizing it was a bright and sunny early morning with sunlight sneaking in and the first dayshift agents entering one by one. The bullpen was slowly filling out with the buzzing sounds of a regular morning's workweek day.

It was Rigsby hovering over me. "You swore you would stay in your bed."

"I didn't swear," I muttered. "I said you would see me in the morning. Well, it's morning and I am seeing you. Just not there, but here."

Rigsby sighed deeply. "Do they even know that you're missing?"

"No, but I'll bet you ten bucks that you'll be getting a call between right about now and ten minutes."

"You're crazy, Jane."

"Yes, I am. But I found the missing link and you guys are going to be very proud of me. I solved our case."

Rigsby pulled up one of his black eyebrows and gave me that "yeah right," frown he was so good at. I smiled. Just as Cho and Van Pelt walked in, the phone on Van Pelt's desk rang. "That'll be the hospital," I said from my couch. "Just tell them I'm here and I won't be going back."

Cho looked as if he could kill me with his bare hands, glared at a shrugging Rigsby and then watched Van Pelt trying to explain to the hospital's administration that I had checked myself out last night, without really checking myself out officially. I swear I could hear some cursing on the other line.

I slowly sat up and grinned at my three companions. "Come on guys, be happy. I saved you a trip back to that terrible place. Besides, we don't need to interview any more people. The case is cracked. I know who attacked Mrs. Westfield and us and who killed Tommy Westfield."

"Oh, really?" Cho crossed his arms. "Tell us."

"Only if you promise not to be angry."

"I promise to be angry if you did something else stupid."

"Cho, I didn't know you thought so low of me …"

"Just spill the beans, Jane."

I grinned. "Alright then. Donald Delaney tried to kill his wife, then he tried to kill us and then he killed his stepson. "

The three of them sunk down on their chairs. "Start from the beginning," Cho ordered.

"O-kay," I said, eyeing him cautiously. "But just so you know, I feel fine."

Cho didn't utter another word as I began.

"So," I said, "I was thinking last night. If you are married to a woman whose guts you can't stand anymore, there are two things you can do. One: Get a divorce. Two: Kill her. The divorce is out of the question. Margaret Westfield is a very rich, very powerful woman who would have taken every shred of clothing off Donald Delaney's back. Plus, I can predict you now that he probably signed a prenuptial agreement, so if they got that divorce, he would get nothing."

Van Pelt quietly nodded as her fingers tapped away on her PC, searching and going through the list of official information about the marriage of this couple.

"So that brings us to murder."

"Wait a second," Rigsby objected. "Why are you so certain they hate each other? Or he hates her?"

"Because of her last name."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't it strike you as odd that her last name was still Mrs. Westfield? Margaret held onto her husband's first name, even after she married Delaney. Nobody ever spoke of Mrs. Delaney, did they? They talk of Mrs. Westfield."

"That's true," Van Pelt said, taking in the lingering signs of a decaying marriage. "So if he didn't want to divorce her, he would have her killed hiring someone else."

"Ah, but that's just it, isn't it? If he hired a hitman, then who would make such a sloppy mess of it? She was attacked and stabbed several times, yet survived. A professional would have killed her with one or two stabs and be done with it. Yet she survived."

"Because he didn't hire someone. He did it himself," Rigsby agreed. "But how? He was at the bar the entire time."

"Was he? Really?"

"He was spotted all night."

"But who would have noticed him going to the toilet for, let's say, twenty minutes or so, come back and continue to watch the game? His so-called buddies never showed up so he had no one to check him, except the other people at the bar and the bartender. Who, it being a busy night with a full house, would never have seen him go away and then return as if nothing ever happened."

"That would be taking one hell of a risk though," Cho replied. "Would he really be that crazy?"

"Oh yeah. And it's not even a big risk. I timed it yesterday."

"You timed it?"

"Yep. I went to the bar, and – by the way – spoke to the bartender and his staff extensively, confirming my suspicion that they would not have seen him go away, using the backdoor near the toilets that has no alarm and heads out straight to the parking lot – anyhow, I timed how long it would take me to go from the bar to their house and back. So, take a guess."

They all shrugged.

"Three minutes from the parking lot, over the main road to the house, three minutes back. Let's say that we are going for that time frame of twenty minutes, that would have given him about a quarter of an hour to go inside, take the knife and slash her throat."

"That's pretty cold though," Van Pelt protested. "Could he really just go back into that bar and continue to watch?"

"Oh yeah, he could. If he really hated his wife enough to do that to her."

They looked at me. "I'll bet you a hundred bucks that, if you go and interview their friends and family, you will see the underlying frustrations from both sides. If she dies, he will stand to inherit four million dollars, all of their homes and whatever else they possess. But the one thing standing in his way is …"

"… Tommy."

"Yes, the drug-addicted son who has never been stooped by his mother, who has always regained her trust, who has had her finances to support his habit. She always believed that one day he would change, and the sad part is that he probably had. I spoke to the bartender, you see. He knew the family situation. He knew Tommy from when he was a visitor to the bar. Tommy had sworn to him that he would quit his habits and go on the straight path. That's why he emptied out that shack. That's why he ran when they questioned him. He was afraid."

"So he could have been at the shack during the shooting. He could be our guy."

"I don't know yet," I said. "It could have been, it could have been his stepfather." I stretched, placing my hands behind my head.

"So now that you have figured it out, where is the body?"

I shrugged. "Hey, I'm not a psychic, remember? That, you guys have to figure out."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part nine**

After a brief late afternoon nap during which Rigsby had interviewed Tommy Westfield's father without telling him we were now looking for a corpse, I was eating a sandwich made by Grace with a cup of my favorite tea when Cho came back with a list of properties owned by the Westfields.

"I know it's a long shot," he said, "but if Donald Delaney really wanted to get rid of his stepsons' body, this would be the first areas to go through. Some of these domains are several acres in size. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack though. Van Pelt and Rigsby are already on their way to the summer house. We're guessing that might have been his first thought too."

"Can we put the whammy on Delaney?" I asked tiredly, feeling my headache return, despite the hours of rest on this couch and listening to the welcoming humming sounds of my co-workers buzzing like bees.

"What do you think? Can you get him to speak up?"

"He's a cold frog and a very good liar. It will be hard. Damn, Cho, if I hadn't had that stupid concussion, I might have figured it out yesterday when he came to see us. In other circumstances, we might have had him already."

"We'll get him nonetheless. We owe that to Lisbon."

It was the first time I had heard him talk about Lisbon in this manner. "You miss her too," I stated matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, I miss her bossing around."

"You're pretty good at that yourself though," I smiled.

"I called the hospital. She's being taken off the ventilator soon. They think she'll wake up soon. Do you want me to bring you?"

"Yeah, that would be great," I smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

I ate half of my sandwich, biting back the bile in the back of my throat and stood up, swaying.

"You okay, man?" Cho asked, immediately by my side.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired. Would you mind taking me now?"

"Sure."

I took another nap in the car while Cho drives silently. H had even turned off the radio, the silence doing me good and I actually sleep relatively peaceful considering the circumstances.

At the hospital, we walked to the ICU where Lisbon is still in her bed, still quietly lying there yet with a dash of blush on her face. "She actually looks better," I state, for the first time convinced she'll be fine.

"I'll go get a doctor," Cho said. "You wait here and sit down."

I sank onto a chair and took Lisbon's hand in mine. It felt warm to the touch. Cho walked back in quickly with her attending doctor after him.

"You're right on time," he said. "We were just about to take the ventilator out. Miss Lisbon has shown signs of waking up. Everything's looking pretty hopeful."

"That's fantastic," I said, backing away so they could help her better. With the aid of a nurse, the doctor quickly and efficiently pulled out the tube. Instantly Lisbon coughed in her sleep, relaxing within a second as the tube came out. She opened her eyes; then closed them again; then reopened them once more and looked straight at me.

"Lisbon," I said relieved and soothing. "It's okay, you're fine. You're going to be alright."

"Hey, Jane," she just said and then closed her eyes again and fell asleep.

"It looks like Miss Lisbon is ready to be moved into a private room," the doctor spoke happily. "The worst has passed."

I had never felt so grateful in my life. "Thanks, doc."

Cho and I stepped outside Lisbon's cubicle as they prepared to disconnect some of the machines and prepare her for transport to another unit. "You see? She's going to be fine," Cho said, patting my shoulder. I could tell he was just as relieved as I was.

I nodded. "Doctor, can we stay with her?"

"She's going to be asleep for the rest of the evening. We just gave her a mild sedative to rest up as much as possible. You'd better come back tomorrow, she won't be waking up anytime soon."

"Okay." I placed my hand gently on Lisbon's cheek and whispered, "See you tomorrow, Teresa." Then, reluctantly, we left the room. Outside her cubicle I looked around at the other units where less fortunate patients were still lying silently in their beds. "Just a second," I said, raising my hand as I peered behind the privacy curtains into the other cubicles.

Yep, there she was. Mrs. Margaret Westfield. Barely recognizable as she lay there bandaged and on the same tube as Lisbon had been, her face thick with crusted scars and swollen cheeks. Her neck and upper arms were bandaged too, as was her entire head for that matter. This woman was in really, really bad shape.

The doctor noticed me looking and walked over. "Do you know her?"

"Yes," I lied. "Will she make it?"

"It's too soon to tell at this moment but her chances are growing slimmer by the day. She was attacked with a knife and one of the stabs was inside her brain. If – and when – she ever wakes up she'll never be the woman she was before the attack. It will be a miracle if she ever speaks or sees again."

"So he did succeed," I muttered under my breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing doctor. Can you tell me if her husband has been in to see her?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the nursing staff and check with the register. Why are you so interested in her?"

"She's our case," I said.

Firm footsteps approached us angrily. I could hear a very sharp and upset voice nearby. "What the hell are you doing here? Doctor, I don't want that man near my wife. Get him out of here!"

"Ah, Mr. Delaney," I said calmly as her husband came closer. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"Because I had the cops all over my properties, skimming the entire area with dogs and equipment, that's why! You should be out there looking for Tommy, not harass me."

"Oh, but we are looking for him. We're searching his body."

"His … his _body_?!"

"Yes," I said slowly, eyes fixed him, knowing I was spot on. "The corpse that you have buried somewhere."

He stared at me in utter disgust. "You're crazy!"

I stared him straight into the eyes. "If I'm crazy, then you have nothing to hide and you wouldn't have to be so upset. But I know I'm right. My colleague and I are going to find him when we leave the hospital. I know where he's buried. In fact, I know _exactly_ where he is."

"You're bluffing."

"Try me," I smiled. Then I nodded at the woman on her deathbed. "Looks like you're going to have your wish after all. Your wife is dying, Mr. Delaney. That must feel good, right? Knowing that she'll never wake up to tell the truth about you."

Cho was near us now, placing his hand on my arm, as if to back me off. Delaney balled his hands into fists, staring so furiously at me that I thought his eyes would burst out of their socks. Oh yeah, he was our guy. All we had to do now was find the body.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Delaney spat. "Accusing me like that. I'll have your badge by morning."

"I don't have a badge," I reacted slowly. "And you, Mr. Delaney, will be behind bars in the morning. Not just for killing your wife but for trying to kill a CBI-agent and myself."

"Get that jerk out of my sight before I kill him," Delaney hissed at Cho.

"You mean, before you try to kill me _again_? You didn't succeed the first time, you won't get away with it the second."

He stopped, just as sudden as the outburst began. "Prove it," he hissed. "Try to prove anything."

"I will," I just simply stated. "Goodbye, Mr. Delaney."

We walk away from our murderer, leaving him trembling in anger. It was only near the elevators that I realized I was trembling too. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't make them stop. The adrenaline rush was over.

"Don't overstep the line, Jane," Cho warned me. "He could sue you for harassment if you keep this up. His next call will be to the Governor and he will have your hide. And besides, we don't know where the body Is."

"Just a minor detail we'll figure out. And the Governor will want to know who killed Mrs. Westfield. Tough choice to make, right?"

We stepped inside the elevator where I – almost invisibly – swayed towards the far wall and rested against it. Cho pushed the button to the first instead of the ground floor. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Having you checked out before I take you back to the CBI."

"Come on, Cho. You know I'm fine."

"Yeah right."

"Seriously. I swear. Don't bring me back there. We have work to do. I need to figure out where he took the body before he moves it again. In fact, it might be a good idea to survey him from now him, get some agents to follow his whereabouts. He'll lead us to Tommy."

Cho crossed his arms and focused on me. "Can you stand still without wavering?"

I stood upright and forced every nerve in my body to listen to my mind. I stood very still, arms stretched out before me. "You see?" I said in triumph.

Cho sighed and pushed the ground floor button. "You're more stubborn than a mule, Jane. Let's go."

Outside, on the parking lot, he opened my car door for me and watched me as I buckled up. I showed him my brightest smile, waving my hand lightly. He shut the door, stepped in behind the steering wheel and off we went as it grew darker outside. "Let's go, James!"

Cho just snorted and drove off.

"You know," I said as the car lights switched on. "I've been wondering about this whole case. Lisbon and I went to that shack to follow a lead, right? But that was a dead end. The place was cleaned out and totally empty. Then why was there anyone in the shadows waiting for us? And why didn't we notice earlier that there was someone in there? It wasn't as if that place was huge, right? There weren't that many places to hide in. It still boggles me that we hadn't seen him."

As Cho drove over quiet roads as soon as he left this part of town, he looked at me for a second. "Didn't you say that you were talking when you went into that shed? You might have been distracted, as you have claimed yourself before. You beat yourself over it, remember?"

"Yeah, but still. I've been wrecking my brain over this. It was almost as if he appeared out of nowhere. Lisbon had her flashlight with her and there was absolutely nothing as she shone around. And yet suddenly there he was, how can that be?"

"The entire place has been turned upside down, Jane, after they took you to the hospital. It was too small for hidden rooms."

"Then …" I stopped, realization suddenly dawning. "That's it! Cho, turn around and take us to that shack, right now."

He stared at me as if I had gone crazy. "_Now_?!"

"Yeah, before it's too late – I know where the body is …" An extremely loud and banging noise cut off my words. Out of nowhere a set of blinding lights raced towards us, drove next to us and then slammed deliberatey into my side of the car. Cho held onto the steering wheel but wasn't unable to prevent our car from swirling to the left, over to the other side of the road, down the edge and into the small ravine. Our car, going too fast, was impacted so hard that it threw us upside down, once or twice, until our car swirled to an abrupt and harsh stop, slamming in against a young tree as it came to a standstill.

I was strapped in my passenger site with Cho trapped in his driver's seat, his head resting against his passenger door. His window was cracked. He didn't stir. Our windshield had cracked but not shattered. The motor turned off automatically, smoke coming out of the engine, our airbags had exploded in our faces. We lay very quietly and very still.

It seemed to remain like that forever, until above us I saw a man with a flashlight appear. He started making his way down the small ravine, shining his light into the car.

"Thank god," I said weakly, "hey, can you help us …?" stopping immediately when I recognized Donald Delaney.

"Not really," he said, landing his fist straight into my face, knocking me out. After all, it all just went black.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part ten**

I was being dragged. My feet barely touched the ground as strong arms and firm hands grabbed me as if it were nothing. I couldn't move, couldn't fight it. My entire body felt like a helpless rag doll, unable to respond.

It was dark and oh so quiet. I heard scratching noises, feet shuffling over the ground (my own?) and then I was unceremoniously dropped on the ground. Whoever had been carrying/dragging me obviously thought I was dead.

I remained unmoving on the ground, too hurt and too exhausted to do anything. I didn't dare to stir, afraid he would see me breathing and finishing me off. But he didn't approach me and moved to a corner of the shack, using a flashlight to see where he had to go. Then I saw him kneeling on the floor, pulling at something.

Instantly I knew what it is, I had guessed it right before we were stopped. The body was under the floor.

My memories came back vaguely. I remembered the hospital, the car, Delaney, Cho … Cho, where was Cho? I tried to open my eyes and look around, only to find that I couldn't. They seemed to be glued together. Was I still out of it? Dreaming? I didn't know.

Then I heard a slight groan, not so far from me. That had to be Cho. I opened my eyes at last, following the direction of the moaning and saw some movement in the dark. "Cho," I whispered. "Cho … can you hear me?"

I knew I had to get to him but it was already too late. Our attacker turned towards us, got up and approached us. His flashlight hovered over Cho. Without a second thought Delaney knocked Cho out again with his flashlight. Cho went down without a single kick.

Delaney shoved the flashlight underneath his armpit and grabbed Cho, dragging him without mercy towards the corner of the small room. I heard a creaking sound, a thud and then he came back for me.

I forced myself to focus, to get up and to fight Delaney but my will couldn't control my body. I was too far out of it, my head spinning, seeing double and only shadows. I knew it was really, really bad.

Delaney flashed his light over my face. I shut my eyes against the sharp, blinding flash but of course he noticed I was awake. He waved the flashlight at me, ready to knock me out again.

With all the might I had in me, I rolled away from him, forcing my body to react in an almost unhuman way. _I don't want to die this way_, ran like a mantra through my head. With the flashlight's front illuminating his face, Donald Delaney looked like a madman, staring into the abyss. He was too far gone to stop now. He had killed and kept on killing. His rage was all-consuming, his anger aimed towards my cockiness in that hospital.

Delaney knew I wasn't a match in this fight. I was lying on the ground, groveling in dust, trying to find a way out of this as he came back at me. "No," I said, holding up my hands to protect my head as I crawled backwards on hands and knees. "We can talk about this, Donald. It doesn't have to end this way, you know. You can still go back. You haven't killed us yet."

My fingers crawled over the floor, trying to find something to defend myself with, only to see Delaney standing right before me. I recognized those shoes. Weakly I knew I had lost. The flashlight went up again, swinging into my direction. If he hit me full frontal on the head, I would die on impact.

As he lifted the flashlight a second time, it struck the wooden wall behind me. I used every skill in me, every prediction I had ever done, to avoid him twice, foreseeing where and how he could impact me.

The third time I wasn't so lucky. I fell aside, somehow avoiding the biggest impact. I could feel the lower end of the heavy flashlight hit my head but the blow wasn't as hard as it could have been. Later on, that would prove to be my good fortune. Yet, wounded as I already was, hurting as I already had been, it was enough to send me straight back into oblivion. And before I even reached the abyss, I knew that we were in a mess. A big, horrible mess. Me and my big mouth …


	11. Chapter 11

**Part eleven **

I heard something dripping beside me, like the constant trickling of water onto the ground, released from a broken pipe right next to us. I knew that sound. I'd heard it before, a lifetime ago when my best friend and boss had been hurt so badly that it sent us on this wild goose chase to seek revenge.

I could do nothing but listen to it and not respond. My entire body was numb. I was lying there feeling utterly useless, helpless. Paralyzed. Biting in dust that seemed to be everywhere. It was dark in here but small trickles of light came pouring in from above us. It must have been daytime already, it was natural sunlight. And it was damned hot in here. Almost unbearably so.

I heard sounds but they were very distant. Was there someone nearby? Could there be people around to help us? I knew I needed to call out and scream for help but my tongue remained dryly inside my throat. _Do something!_ No, it was nothing human.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I opened my eyes and stare straight into the beady eyes of the biggest, blackest rat I had ever seen in my life. The beast was near my face, eyeing me almost curiously. It was enough to send my body reeling upright, hitting the wall against me on terrified impact. The rat ran away quickly, more scared of my than I of it. I couldn't chase it away with my hands. They were tied behind my back.

This had to be hell, I thought. We were back in that damned shack, lying helplessly tied up in the simmering heat that protruded every pore of this hellhole. My head burst with extreme, hot pain. Where was Cho?!

Frantically I tried to look around me, forcing myself to move so I could see better. "Cho?" That strange, husky voice was mine. I could barely speak out his name. "Cho. Come on, man. Talk to me."

Then I heard footsteps come out of the shadows. Someone had been watching me, undoubtedly laughing at my helplessness. I looked up to find Delaney looking at me with a big, fat smile on his face. He had been waiting, relishing our helplessness.

"Why did you have to mess with my business, Mr. Jane? You should have left it as it were. But no, you had to go and meddle about in my affairs. You brought this onto yourself. Look at all the things you made me do."

I coughed up dust and tasted blood in my mouth. "Why bother killing us?"

"Because I'm angry. You provoked me. It's your own damned fault. You should have left things as they were. Everyone believed Tommy killed his mother. His running away confirmed that. But no, you had to say that I did it and then you sent your colleagues over to tear everything apart. Without you, I would have gotten away with it."

"Sooner or later you would have betrayed yourself," I said weakly. "People like you always do."

"People like me?"

"Yeah, arrogant bastards who think they can do whatever they want."

He smiled. "Well, soon the world will have one arrogant bastard less to worry about."

I swallowed away a nasty remark and focused on the here and now. "What are your plans now? Shoot us right here and get it over with?"

He smiled. "Don't you worry about a thing, Mr. Jane. It will be over soon. I don't need to shoot you, you know. It can get pretty hot in here, as you have noticed. If the heat and dehydration don't get you, the rats will. The blood on your face is enough to lure them to you. They like the scent of blood, you know. They'll devour you. Rats can clean up entire houses, did you know that? They are taking care of Tommy as we speak. Or, if you get lucky, you might die of your injuries first. You really do look like shit, you know."

"They'll find us first," I spoke bravely.

He smiled knowingly. "Your colleagues have searched this place inside out and couldn't find this space underneath the floor board. Neither did you when you first came here."

"You were here with Tommy," I said, recognizing the scent of a decaying body. "He never ran away, did he? You killed him immediately."

"Yeah. Stupid bastard told me about this hidden space. Used it to hide his stash, never told anyone. Well, until he decided to better his life, that is. I knew this would be perfect to bury his body."

"Why kill your wife?"

"Why not? She was a bitch. A loaded, rich bitch who hated my guts and didn't allow me a penny."

"You know that you won't get away with this."

He shrugged. "The doctor told me she wouldn't make it. I'm going to ask them to switch off life support. I'll have her money within a few days. And then I'm out of here." He looked aside briefly. If I focused, I could see a body lying on the ground. It had been here for quite some time, a ripe corpse reeking of death.

I stared at Delaney wearily. "You know, some people are meant for great things. You are meant to rot in hell. And that day _will _come, sooner than you think."

"You first," he said. "Goodbye Mr. Jane."

He left calmly, crawling up the small wooden stairs that lead him up to the shack, dropping the hidden wooden floor above us with a loud bang. We were alone with the rats in a staggering heat. In our conditions, we wouldn't make it to the night.

Listening intently, I could hear the sound of tiny feet tip-tapping over the murky sandy floor. They were all over the place; I could see their bodies spreading all over the ground. Then they found something. They were snapping at it, tearing at human flesh. I could see the dead man's arm being nibbled on, his clothes being torn apart as they attacked. They had been going at him for quite some time, getting rid of the flesh on his bones.

_Oh god, let them have enough food for days to come._

Suddenly I heard a very loud groan behind me, on my left, one that could only come from Cho. Thank god, he was still alive. I opened my mouth, but not a single sound came out. I had to struggle find my speech again. I licked my lips and clacked my tongue to get movement into it again. "Cho. Cho, are you there? Cho, talk to me!"

From the darkness came a very familiar voice. So familiar, I could have wept from pure relief. "Yeah, what the hell happened?"

"Delaney," I managed to say. "He trapped us. Do you remember the accident?"

Nothing came as a reply except a loud moan. I realized there were two of us with a concussion now. I sighed deeply, leaning powerless on the ground.

"What the hell is that sound?" Cho suddenly asked.

I sighed. "Rats."

"Oh man."

"I know."

I heard them eat Tommy's body. And I knew that their appetite, their hunger, would not be quenched just yet. Rats ate anything but if there was something they really liked, it was fresh blood. If they came just a few inches closer, they would pick up the scent of my blood. And when that happened, they would eat me alive. They would literally eat me while I still lived to feel it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part twelve**

The heat was almost unbearable. Image a sauna and then going in there dressed in your warmest clothes. That's what it felt like. Suddenly I hated California. Why did it have to be so hot today? Why did it always have to be so hot?

Silence was followed by noises and then noises followed silence. How long had it been since we were locked up in this cellar? How long since we'd been knocked out? We both lost all track of time. Cho hadn't responded anymore and that worried me. I thought of Lisbon all the time. Why the hell had I been so stubborn? My actions had seriously hurt Cho. He could already be dead and it would be on me. And nobody would ever find out that our bodies were lying here. We would never be found. Guilt surged through me like a sharp knife.

"It's not your fault, Jane," Cho's voice came from the darkness. I could have wept again, so happy was I to hear his voice. It sounded firm too. He was slowly recovering.

"I'm still sorry," I said. "Underestimated him."

"He's a bastard. That's not your fault."

"You listened to me. If you hadn't, we wouldn't be here."

"You were right. And that's what we do. This is our job." He had said that before, ages ago, when we were standing at the ER watching Lisbon.

"Sometimes I really, really hate this job," I replied dryly.

"I don't."

"Not ever?"

"No. These are the risks we take. They'll find us."

"Cho …" I said, hesitant, struggling against the bile in my throat. "Should they find us and I would be – well, you know, out of it – could you tell them …"

"… That you hit your stubborn head again?"

"Well, yeah. Technically I didn't it. Delaney did. Well, and that car crash didn't really help either."

"How bad is it?"

I had to think of that question. Should I lie? I decided not to. "Based on my headaches and pain, I would say nine out of ten."

"Is there blood?"

I thought of the rats. I saw them in their pack devouring flesh. "Don't worry, Cho," I said quietly. "It'll be days before the rats even figure out that you are in here as well."

"That's a comfort," he spoke dryly.

After a short while, I said, "Cho?"

"Yeah?"

"I liked working with you."

"Jane."

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking like that. You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry. I just want to make sure that you know that I liked you." I coughed. "Well, and the others too of course."

"I liked working with you too, Jane. You're crazy, you're unpredictable but one of the best men I've ever known."

"That's touching, Cho."

I could hear him snort. "Yeah."

After that, we both became quiet, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. I retreated within my mind, breathing in and out, in and out, almost hypnotizing myself into a peaceful corner of my mind where there was no heat, no pain.

Suddenly we heard noise and sounds above us. People were entering the shack, searching for something – for us? They were above us; I could see their shadows through the pours of the wooden floor. There was shuffling, more voices.

"Hey!" Cho started to shout. "Hey, we're down here!" I could have kissed that man at that very second, even if his voice pierced through my skull like a knife. He was very much alive, very vivid and very loud. Very eager to save us.

At first they didn't hear us but then someone stopped the others of speaking. Cho kept on yelling and banged his feet hard against the wooden wall. Then we heard, "They're below the floor!"

More sounds that seemed to go on forever and then we saw flashlights peer through the cracks in the floor. It was hard to spot us but Cho kept on drawing their attention. "They're here," someone said and I recognized Rigby's voice immediately. "Break it open."

Then several men worked at removing the board floor in haste, using crowbars to hasten the job, allowing the bright sunlight in and sending the rats scattering all over the place. I sighed with relief, leaning my head on the dusty floor and waited for our rescuers. It wouldn't be long now. I actually longed for a nice, comfortable hospital bed and the right medication to stop the hurt.

Van Pelt was lowered inside our prison and looked at Cho and me. "My god, Jane," she said, her hand touching my neck in search of a pulse which she could barely find. "You look terrible."

I smiled at her wearily, so grateful to have been found that I even forgot to crack a stupid joke. Several agents, including Rigsby as their leading Agent, were now inside the small cellar and started to remove the ropes that bound Cho and I. I wanted to get up but couldn't. Cho moved relatively quickly, standing on his own two feet as he approached his team and gave Rigsby a grateful nod. "You doing okay?" Rigsby asked.

"Yeah. Jane needs help badly though."

They kneeled next to me as my hands were freed and I was rolled onto my back with a groan and moan escaping my lips. Van Pelt held my head in her lap, her hands resting reassuringly on my hair. "Stay with us, Jane," she spoke gently. "We'll get you out of here."

I nodded gratefully.

"Get those paramedics down here," Rigsby said, shouting orders around. "We need help _now._"

"His pulse is weak," Van Pelt spoke. "Dehydrated, bad head wound. Be careful when you move him."

I was lifted gently out of the cellar and placed onto a gurney, staring at the cracked ceiling above me. I saw white and black flashes before my eyes and blurs and shadows. From then on, it somehow all faded into one big movement. I was surrounded by people who cared for me. I knew I was safe.

"Second-impact," Cho said, telling them what had happened. "it's pretty bad."

After that, there was nothing else.


	13. Chapter 13

Happy end of year and a brilliant 2014 Everyone! Here is the final installment of this story, I had much fun writing it and hope to return next year with new stories. Thanks very much for your kind reviews and comments, that really warmed my heart. Xxx

**Part thirteen **

A hospital (again, but this time I didn't curse at it) an ER, doctors, nurses hovering over me, cutting open yet another suit – albeit one that now reeked of death and I wouldn't have worn ever again – taking away my dignity and replacing it with a too short hospital gown. Well, what needs to be done, needs to be done, I guess. Good thing I was practically out of it.

Hands prodded my arms, hands, legs, torso, and mostly my head.

Lights shone into my eyes, doctors were checking my reflexes and worrying about my slow reactions and enlarged pupils. My lungs were trying to fill up with air, aided by additional oxygen. There were fluids being pumped into me, loads of them. I saw a bag of blood, another few bags with iron and nutrition. I was severely dehydrated, or so they said.

There were a lot of people I didn't know and a lot of blurry images. Cho kept entering my vision, talking to the doctors and to me, sporting a white bandage around his head as he recalled in detail the accident and or adventures in the cellar afterwards. I saw a woman with long red hair and a man with short black hair, two people talking to each other and to me. Temporarily I couldn't remember their names, but fortunately that returned quickly.

Rigsby cursed and swore to get that son of a bitch.

They kept on asking me if I knew my name, where I was, what had happened. I slurred when I spoke and probably talked incoherent talk. I had these really strange nightmares about being eaten alive by rats while Delaney was sawing off my head. I think I must have screamed a few times.

More darkness came and I slept, slept, slept. And then finally, a beeping sound, a steady rhyme, entered that complete, serene silence you only get when you're out of it and in a peaceful, drugged slumber. Then finally, a face so familiar that I felt I must have been dreaming because I hadn't expected to see her here.

I was staring into Lisbon's eyes and she smiled that cute little smile of hers she only saved for special occasions. I guessed this was one of them.

She was sitting in a wheelchair, dressed in a hospital gown and a robe. She wore these funny little hospital slippers. I could even smell the scent of her hospital soap. I stared at her for a long time. She laughed. "Jane, wake up and stop staring, you're not dreaming. I'm really here."

"You are?" I croaked the first words I said in two days.

I extended my finger and touched her hand carefully. It didn't budge. Her skin was warm to the touch and very real.

Cho, sitting on my other side (which I hadn't noticed before) said, "You missed Lisbon's wakeup call."

"That's alright," Lisbon replied, "I didn't miss yours."

"What happened?"

"You've been lucky. They did a CT-scan and an MRI on your brain and the part which makes you you, wasn't damaged," Lisbon smiled. "You're going to be fine; all you need now is a lot of rest."

"Your hard skull saved your butt," Cho added.

I smiled. "How are the two of you doing?"

"I'm fine," Lisbon said first. "Every day better, they're letting me go in a few days. My lung is recovering quickly, the rest of me is eager to get out of here and go back to work."

"That's good to hear." I turned towards Cho.

"Hey, don't look at me. My skull is harder than yours. Not a glitch."

"You saved us, Cho."

"No, actually Rigsby and Van Pelt did that. Our car was found on the side of the road, they found traces and evidence leading them to Delaney's Jeep. Van Pelt quickly put two and two together after they learned about Delaney's outburst in the hospital. So they went to confront him but he had disappeared. Van Pelt requested a court order to track his cell phone, by then though he had already left us in the shed. They caught him at the hospital, trying to pull the plug on his wife. They got there right in time but he refused to tell us anything about Thomas' body and your disappearance. Van Pelt then tracked down which way we were heading when you left the hospital and figured out that we were going for the shack. It was a long shot, but it was the right one."

"Where is Delaney now?"

"In custody, charged with two times, first degree murder and two murder attempts," Lisbon said, knowing the whole story. She had grabbed my hand and kept on squeezing it without even thinking about doing so.

"Two murders?"

"Yeah, Margaret Westfield died late last night," Cho explained. "She had no chance. The irony is that, had he done a better job the first time, he would have been filthy rich by now and none of this would have happened. Except Thomas figured out just like you that he had been at the house and confronted him. Delaney knew he had to get rid of Tommy and make it look like he ran. Without you, he would have succeeded."

I looked at Lisbon. "It wasn't worth getting shot for though."

Lisbon shrugged. "Part of the risks, Jane. Next time though, shut up when we go into an abandoned building, alright?"

"I was hungry."

She smiled, "I know. When we get out of here, I'm going to treat you with the biggest hotdog anyone can find in Sacramento."

Now that was a very nice thing to look forward to!

The End


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